Stephen

Stephen

by Amy Cross

Blurb:

Fresh from the convent, Beryl Seaton accepts a position as governess for the Brooks family. When she arrives at the family's remote house, however, she discovers that a terrible secret is waiting for her in the nursery. From the author of Asylum and The Farm, Stephen is a horror novel about a young woman who finds herself torn between two worlds. Desperate to help her employers in their hour of need, she nevertheless struggles to look after their son. What happened to Stephen, to leave him the way he is? What happened to the previous governess at Grangehurst? And what causes the sobbing sound that seem to drift through an empty room? By the time she uncovers the awful truth about the family, and about little Stephen, it might be too late for Beryl to ever leave.

My Reaction:

If I can recall which "booktuber" suggested this book, I'll be ignoring any of her other recommendations.  

There will be spoilers in this review, so read at your own risk (or better yet, spare yourself and just don't bother with the book at all).

This was bad.  There's just no other way to put it.  The writing is stilted and in serious need of an editor. I guess there's no point in going through a long list of supporting evidence for my opinion of the writing quality, but here's one thing that grated on my nerves throughout the novel: The protagonist is repeatedly referred to as a governess, yet the child she's there to care for is an infant.  Babies need a nanny (someone who takes care of basic needs like feeding, hygiene, safety, and comfort), not a governess (essentially a live-in private educator).  There's a big difference between the two, and seeing that told me this book was going to have many other similar issues—which it did. 

There are problems with tense and spelling, but the bigger problems are just finesse, logic, and pacing.  I'm honestly shocked that this book has such a high rating on Goodreads, though by this point, I suppose I should be used to it.  

At one point a character says, "Out with it! ... What are you trying to say, woman?" I felt complete sympathy and agreement with this sentiment.  For most of the book, this is one of the most repetitive, mealy-mouthed protagonists I've come across.  Far too much of the "oh, I tremble to tell you this" and "ah, I was so naive in those days" type thing.  Just frustrating and boring to read. 

Then we get things like this: "Obviously a man has the right to control his wife and to punish her for transgressions..."  Such subtlety!  Bear in mind that this is the protagonist's observation while writing an account of her past. She is a 60-year-old woman in the late 1930s at the time of writing, which makes it all the more ridiculous.

Ugh, and I'd completely forgotten this next bit until I came across it in my notes!  When the young protagonist ventures into the nearest town, she is very nearly raped.  Keep in mind that she was raised in a convent and is a complete innocent.  Her immediate reaction after being rescued from this terrifying situation is to say, "I don't want to cause trouble. The man was probably just drunk."  ...UGH.  Seriously?

There's no real concept of space in this book, either, in my opinion.  One day, they're walking with a baby carriage to the nearest town.  The next time she goes to town, it takes her a couple of hours to walk back home again!  The layout of the house makes no logical sense, either.  It's supposed to be this grand estate, from what I can recall, yet the well-to-do owners maintain it all themselves and you can hear things from the kitchen that I don't think you'd actually be able to hear in such a large home, which would probably have been designed for more of an "upstairs/downstairs" set-up.  Am I nit-picking? Sorry, but this type of thing bothers me as a reader. 

"Beyond the pail".  It should be "pale".  (Fingernails on the chalkboard moment.)

"The man looked utterly exhausted, his large frame barely hanging from his bones."  The bones are the frame of a body, unless I am mistaken.  This makes no sense. 

The paranormal aspect of the book is very thin. Aside from a couple of characters saying the house is evil (or whatever) and the last-minute appearance of a ghost, it's just a sick (yet boring) story about some psychos. 

To jump ahead to the end, the little epilogue is utterly ridiculous.  Are we honestly meant to believe that nobody investigated this big, empty house for all those years?  Not even a teenager or druggie or homeless person looking for a private hideout in a conveniently abandoned home?  It's silly enough to expect us to accept that no-one had found the bodies by the late 30s, but all the way into the 2010s?!  Nope. No way. 

The (1930s version of the) protagonist is dying.  She tells someone, "I would rather not go into the details.  It is one of those dull, petty illnesses that claim many lives."  I mean, I'm all for authors leaving out the details about their characters' maladies, to tell the truth.  That would be great!  (However, she later tells us exactly what she is dying of... so much for omitting the details, I guess!)  But what in the heck kind of "dull, petty illness" is also fatal?  I suppose you could say a cold or an ingrown toenail might be "petty", though even then it's an odd word choice, in my opinion, but a disease that will be terminal in very short order?  How can that possibly be described as "petty"?  The book abounds with... petty... annoyances like this.  

Chapter 28.  Ah, Chapter 28... This is the main reason I decided to read the novel.  The person recommending the book referred to the fact that the protagonist/narrator spends the entire previous chapter warning and practically begging the reader not to read the dreaded Chapter 28, because it's just so, so terrible.  It will shake the very foundations of your soul, or something.  I mean, yeah, obviously I'm going to read it.  That's the whole point of the book.  However.  Can I just say that by the time I started The Chapter, I had already guessed what she was going to find?  I mean... There were only two real possibilities, because it had to be something disgusting and abhorrent, and there were only a couple of things that would fit the bill.  So, yes, I guessed it would probably be this, because with the proliferation of zombie fiction in the past couple of decades, cannibalism is très passé. (Does it mean I'm twisted or something that I immediately guessed the Shocking Events of Chapter 28?  Because I actually think I'm not all that imaginative, to tell the truth—just pretty good at reading context clues as a savvy content consumer.) Was it disgusting?  Is the concept disturbing (and probably physically impossible)?  Yes, definitely. I was honestly only skimming over any nastiness, by that point of the book, anyway.  I wanted to know the plot points (what happened to wrap up the story), but had given up on it actually being scary or entertaining in any way.  I don't like body horror, so there was no point in reading it. It's gross, and I don't get the appeal.  Not my thing, at all.  The cover of the book is the scariest thing about it (if you get the version with the really creepy-looking woman in the cover art).  

Actually, that's my concise reaction to the novel as a whole.  It was not my thing.  At all.  I will not be reading more by this author, and I will lower my expectations with future novels recommended by random people on YouTube.  

None of This Is True

None of This Is True

by Lisa Jewell

Blurb:

Celebrating her forty-fifth birthday at her local pub, popular podcaster Alix Summers crosses paths with an unassuming woman called Josie Fair. Josie, it turns out, is also celebrating her forty-fifth birthday. They are, in fact, birthday twins.

A few days later, Alix and Josie bump into each other again, this time outside Alix’s children’s school. Josie has been listening to Alix’s podcasts and thinks she might be an interesting subject for her series. She is, she tells Alix, on the cusp of great changes in her life.

Josie’s life appears to be strange and complicated, and although Alix finds her unsettling, she can’t quite resist the temptation to keep making the podcast. Slowly she starts to realise that Josie has been hiding some very dark secrets, and before she knows it, Josie has inveigled her way into Alix’s life—and into her home.

But, as quickly as she arrived, Josie disappears. Only then does Alix discover that Josie has left a terrible and terrifying legacy in her wake, and that Alix has become the subject of her own true crime podcast, with her life and her family’s lives under mortal threat.

Who is Josie Fair? And what has she done?

My Reaction:

I thought this novel had an interesting premise, and there was some tension at times, but ultimately I didn't really enjoy it. I was expecting more than it could deliver, it was predictable (choosing a spoiler title didn't help with that), and the last-minute twist didn't redeem it, either. (In fact, it made me like the book even less.)  

Josie is a creeper, but to be honest, I didn't particularly like Alix or her husband, either.  There's just not really anyone to root for here, apart from the kids you barely see (and a couple of dogs).  

I get the impression that the author either doesn't know how the police actually operate or decided to throw all that out the window when writing.  At least, I found Alix's interactions with the police very odd and unrealistic.  Maybe I'm wrong (but I don't think so).  

I don't have a problem with popular, "lowbrow" fiction like thrillers—it's most of what I read for pleasure these days—but this one was just not much fun to read. 

Trad Wife

Trad Wife

by Saratoga Schaefer

Blurb:

Every #tradwife needs a baby. She’ll get one at any cost.

When Camille Deming isn’t cooking, cleaning, or homesteading in her picture-perfect country farmhouse, she’s posting about her tradwife lifestyle for her online followers. She takes inspiration from other tradwives on social media, aspiring to be like them, but Camille’s missing a key component: a baby. And contrary to what she posts online, things with her husband Graham have been strained. Pressured by her eager followers, Camille fears that without a baby, her relationship will suffer and her social media will never grow out of its infancy.

When Camille discovers a mysterious, decrepit well in the wheatfield behind her house, she makes a wish for a baby. Afterwards, she has unsettling experiences that she convinces herself are angelic in nature, and when she’s visited one night by a strange creature, her wish comes true. 

Camille’s pregnancy announcement gets more engagement than anything she’s ever posted—so what if Graham’s reaction is lukewarm? Camille’s life is finally falling into place. Never mind that her pregnancy is developing freakishly rapidly and she’s suddenly craving raw meat. Being a traditional wife is worth it.

Rosemary’s Baby for the digital age, this disturbing horror novel is one you’ll want to devour in just one bite.

My Reaction:

I saw this recommended on YouTube, heard the comparison to Rosemary's Baby, and didn't really bother looking into it any further before starting. 

I have no desire to go through all the reasons this didn't hold a candle to Rosemary's Baby, but you can browse other negative reviews on Goodreads to get the gist, if you care. To put it briefly, it can't seem to decide what kind of book it wants to be—the body horror is just gross and often unnecessary (though I accept that some people enjoy body horror, so... whatever... but this is my review, and I don't like it at this level)—it's far too repetitive and dragged-out, which makes it boring at many times (and I don't think it was intentionally so)—the "message" is muddled and contradictory—the husband character is lacking any hint of subtlety, a caricaturized selfish "tradhusband"—the main-character wife supposedly has a bright, scientific mind, yet she somehow didn't know about male infertility and is stunningly slow on the up-take at times—and to top it all off, the course of the plot is completely predictable, once it gets rolling.  (Well, I guess I went into my reasons for disliking this, after all...)

If I had only seen the "acknowledgements" section before starting the book—or, heck, even the "they/them" pronouns for the author in the Goodreads bio (and the back of the book)—I may have understood that this wouldn't be a book for me.  To be fair, finding the term "pregnant people" (as opposed to, you know, "women", who are the only type of people who can get pregnant) was a pretty strong clue, earlier in the book. 

Here, let me just share the opening of the "Acknowledgements":  "The rise of tradwives is a symptom of society's larger, more persistent issues. Capitalism, racism, sexism, etc., have created a culture that can twist things as simple as aesthetics and farm living into something far more insidious.  Zen Buddhists say the only way out is through. I believe the only way out is to devour. Let's consume, transform, and in that way, resist."  

...Okay, then.  

I don't really know enough about it to have much of an opinion on the whole "tradwife" thing. If some women want to live a more traditional life, I don't see an issue with that, though for the ones obsessed with posting it all online, it does feel... performative, to put it mildly.  I doubt many women honestly consider themselves part of the movement (is it a movement?), and if anything, I suspect it's fading in popularity. Just another passing trend.  Some women will stick with the more traditional lifestyle, as some women always have. The ones who were in it for the clicks will drift back to something more mainstream (or chase whatever new fad catches their eye). The author obviously despises the tradwife lifestyle.  Alright, fair enough—but I'm not really clear on how she's linking it to capitalism and racism... Whatever.  I don't even care!

Bottom line: I just didn't enjoy it.

My Husband's Wife

My Husband's Wife

by Alice Feeney

Blurb:

Eden Fox, an artist on the brink of her big break, sets off for a run before her first exhibition. When she returns to the home she recently moved into, Spyglass, an enchanting old house in Hope Falls, nothing is as it should be. Her key doesn’t fit. A woman, eerily similar to her, answers the door. And her husband insists that the stranger is his wife.

One house. One husband. Two women. Someone is lying.

Six months earlier, a reclusive Londoner called Birdy, reeling from a life-changing diagnosis, inherits Spyglass. This unexpected gift from a long-lost grandmother brings her to the pretty seaside village of Hope Falls. But then Birdy stumbles upon a shadowy London clinic that claims to be able to predict a person's date of death, including her own. Secrets start to unravel, and as the line between truth and lies blurs, Birdy feels compelled to right some old wrongs.

My Reaction:

I went into this one knowing nothing, really. I hadn't read the blurb. Just saw it recommended somewhere (I think...), recognized the author, and thought it could be entertaining.  If I'd known the major themes of the novel, I might have skipped it.  I prefer to avoid stories with medical or health-related storylines, because I just don't want to think about that stuff when I'm relaxing, if I can help it.  Real life has enough health worry and medical crap in it, as far as I'm concerned. I don't want to read about it for fun!  To be fair, the author left things very vague, which I did appreciate, but still... Not my favorite topic. 

Aside from that, this had too many things that didn't make sense.  I was listening to the audiobook version, which (for me, at least) tends to make it easier to just painlessly breeze over a good bit of nonsense, but even so, there were many head-scratching moments.  (Check out some other reviews if you're interested.) Basically, the author is favoring shocking twists and confusing misdirects over logic and believability. A certain amount of that is what makes thrillers fun to read, but at some point it tips over into ridiculousness.  This time, I was left with a sense of dissatisfaction. 

Dear Debbie

Dear Debbie

by Freida McFadden

Blurb:

Debbie Mullen is losing it. For years, she has compiled all of her best advice into her column, Dear Debbie, where the wives of New England come for sympathy and neighborly advice. Through her work, Debbie has heard from countless women who are ignored, belittled, or even abused by their husbands. And Debbie does her best to guide them in the right direction.

Or at least, she did.

These days, Debbie’s life seems to be spiraling out of control. She just lost her job. Something strange is happening with her teenage daughters. And her husband is keeping secrets, according to the tracking app she installed on his phone. Now, Debbie’s done being the bigger person. She’s done being reasonable and practical. It’s time to take her own advice.

And now it’s time for payback against all the people in her life who deserve it the most.

My Reaction:

This was my first time reading anything by this author, after seeing it recommended as a page-turner.  I ended up listening to the audiobook version, but it certainly was easy enough to listen to at a steady clip.  Did I like it, though?  Eh... It's okay—if you don't mind a revenge fantasy that hinges on some pretty incredible coincidences (and lots of them).  

Most of the characters aren't very likeable, either, which so many people always feel a need to say isn't really a problem for them.  I don't know if it's a problem for me, honestly.  I guess there may be books/movies/etc. I enjoy despite an unlikeable cast, but on the whole, no, I don't want to actively dislike most of the characters I spend a significant amount of time around.  I don't want them to be perfect, unrealistic little angels, either (so boring), but I'd rather not hate them.  

Anyway... It was something to listen to.  I'd consider another quick listen from this author, but probably wouldn't actively seek her out or commit to reading the text version, if they're all like this.